Very Very Extraordinary
by UselessWreckage
Summary: Best friends Gwen and Merlin work on a film set and are looking for love. Insert shared exes with sinister agendas, handsome stuntmen, litres worth of green tea, and one incredibly annoying movie star, and mayhem truly is afoot.
1. Chapter 1

"Merlin. Merlin, did you get one?"

"Mhm."

"We need to talk about this."

There are less complicated ways for future best friends to meet than to discover that you're both dating the same girl. In most scenarios when two people unknowingly share a girlfriend, lifelong friendship is actually pretty far from the anticipated outcome. However, in the case of Gwen Smith and Merlin Emrys, probability had elected to take a holiday. Heartbroken as they both were over the monstrous betrayal of a certain Morgana Fay, they leaned on each other and bonded over the experience. They quickly found that they had a lot more in common than their taste in women. Over time, Morgana was almost forgotten - until the day when they both received an invitation to one of her big, flashy parties.

"This is a trick. It must be."

"How would it be a trick? What could she possibly be trying to achieve?"

"You know her. She's insecure. This is going to be posh, it's going to be fabulous, she's going to have the elite swarming around her, and she is going to lord our loneliness in our faces so that we regret ever breaking up with her."

"What did she expect us to do? Share?"

"I think she was banking on _one_ of us to stay."

"Well, she lost her savings. I'm not going anywhere near her again."

"We have to go."

"What?"

Merlin emerged from the mug of green tea he had been slowly drowning himself in. Gwen's smirk assured him that his perplexity was written all over his face.

"We have to go to this party," Gwen repeated.

"Why? Why do we have to do that? You said yourself, she just wants to humiliate us. Make it clear that it's our loss, which it isn't, but which we will be hard pressed to prove when stuck on her home turf."

"We'll go to the party and prove her wrong. Show her we're not lonely, we're great, and much better off without her treacherous socialite nonsense."

Merlin raised an eyebrow.

"Speak for yourself. I'm not exactly wishing for her back, but I'm as lonely as Cinderella's left shoe. And weren't you moaning just the other day that no-one remotely attractive ever looks at you twice?"

"Oh, shush. For one, that shoe thing is possibly the worst metaphor you've ever used."

"Semantics."

"_And_ what I mean is, we need to step up our game. Find ourselves some girlfriends, or boyfriends, or lovers of any in between variation if the opportunity arises. We have to _become_ happy and not-lonely in time for the party. Which is," she double checked on her phone, "Actually quite a doable time limit. She's planned way ahead, we have all the way until end of the shoot."

The problem with Gwen was that she was incredibly determined. When she decided on something, for instance that Morgana would not get the best of her, she would not be persuaded otherwise. Whether Merlin argued in favour of staying away and being the better people - "You know she's just going to frame that as cowardice. I don't want her to fool even herself into thinking that she's somehow beat me. Not again." - or that Morgana was obviously trying to save face so maybe they should let her win - "Of course not! She needs to learn that she can't just use people like that! If we never show her, she'll never learn! We'd be doing her a favour." - or even that if they should go, they could go together, pretending to be a couple - "That'll never work. She knows us both too well. No, it has to be real." - she just would not budge.

"Wait a minute. This sudden enthusiasm for getting, as it were, _back in the game_ wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that we have both landed incredibly minor jobs in a film production starring your favourite actor?"

"How could it possibly relate?"

"Gwen. Gwen, look me in the eye. You are not going to make an attempt at seducing Arthur Pendragon, are you?"

"_No_. Oh, come on, why'd you have to mention - I can't concentrate on scheming for a date while I'm conscious of the fact that in three days I'll be working in the same building as _him_."

Merlin chuckled and rolled his eyes. It wasn't that he disliked Arthur Pendragon, not in any way, but he wasn't exactly a _fan_. He'd obviously heard of him, but then, who hadn't? The man's face was on the cover of every other magazine and featured in every other film trailer. Pendragon was very much an "every other" kind of celebrity, the kind that has not yet ascended to the throne of the pantheon, but whose presence is impossible to miss. And he was not in any way a bad actor, he was brilliant, in fact. Merlin liked him. That being said, he wasn't exactly pissing himself over the fact that Pendragon was to star in the picture. The same could not be said for Gwen, although thankfully there was no literal urination involved. As the start of work approached, she did at times squeeze Merlin's arm so hard and for so long that he could feel it turning blue. She hopped up and down like a little rabbit, which was both adorable and disconcerting, though not quite as disconcerting as the prospect of amputation, which Merlin's poor arm was likely to be facing. And of course, she had taken to repeating a mantra of prayers to a god he up until then been fairly sure she did not believe in.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," she repeated, until Merlin suspected his ears might soon want to fall off together with his arm. He lifted the anguished limb's unoccupied twin to pat her hair in comfort.

"There there," he said, "I'm sure you'll survive. His loveliness is sure to adore you with your infallible charm."

To the great sadness of them both, however, this claim for Arthur's loveliness was soon disproved, and in his very first lunch break on set, Merlin faced a friend reminiscent of an excited puppy with the knowledge that he had to quench all her hopes and dreams.

Merlin was a floor runner on the set, and was to spend a lot of time making tea and coffee and being a general dogsbody. It did not make full use of his hard won media degree, but would fit well on his CV. Gwen was a costume designer by trade, but had accepted a role as a fitter for the experience of working on a big production.

As she spent most of her time in the costume workshop, she didn't see much of the big star except from that moment early in the day when she had almost fainted at the sight of blonde locks. Merlin, however, had sped back and forth across sets featuring the man all day, and could with grave confidence announce:

"He's an absolute prick."

Gwen's face fell.

"What?"

Merlin shrugged apologetically.

"No, you have to give me more detail than that. What did he do that's so bad? He's Arthur Pendragon! He's everyone's favourite! He can't be a prick."

"He can. And he is."

This certainty stemmed primarily from an incident surrounding a water bottle. Well, several water bottles. Merlin had been darting around the set, placing bundles of them in key locations and handing them to thirsty looking technicians. As he placed a bottle next to the big star's own chair, a voice had rung out from behind him.

"What are you doing?"

"Handing out water. Here."

Pendragon had simply furrowed his perfectly made up brow and asserted,

"I don't drink that water."

As it turned out, Arthur Pendragon only drank a particular _brand_ of bottled water, which was not the one Merlin tried to offer him. The mistake could apparently not be forgiven, as he insisted that Merlin be the one to subsequently fetch him that water. Once Merlin had found out where Pendragon's special water bottles were stored, the one he brought was apparently "too warm," and he received a splash to the face. When he finally did serve up a perfectly chilled bottle of Arthur's favourite water, the smirk on the actor's face was insufferable.

"He was enjoying my suffering, Gwen. There's no doubt about it. He is a prick, through and through, and I'm going to get revenge."


	2. Chapter 2

"There's no helping it. I'm in love."

"Oh, here we go."

"What do you mean, 'here we go?' Where are we going?"

"Come on, Arthur. You always develop one massive crush on each set you work on. It's tradition by now."

"It is not!"

"Arthur. Do I ever lie?"

"Well, no. You usually don't."

"There you are, then."

"But this time, this time it's for real."

"I'm sure. Alright, go on. You're in love. Again. Who is it this time?"

"He's a floor runner."

"Oh, good! I'm glad to see you mixing with the proletariat, rather than the usual heiresses and supermodels and, what was that one guy, international rugby player?"

"Fuck off, Leon."

"Tsk, tsk. Such language."

"And it was American football. There's a difference. _Anyway_, Merlin is very cute. All pale skin and dark hair and cheekbones, and he's delicate in a really masculine way, you know?"

"I don't, but carry on."

"And he responds really well to my teasing."

"Ah. So there is teasing."

"Of course there is teasing! He gives as good as he gets. Yesterday my shoes were filled with custard. It was _brilliant_."

"I worry about you sometimes, Arthur."

"I _hate_ that man," Merlin grumbled as he slammed his thermos down on the table. Gwen looked up from the vest she was busy mending and swallowed her mouthful of sandwich.

"What's he done now?"

There was no need, of course, to ask who he was on about. Complaining about Arthur Pendragon's inexplicable dedication to making his life hell was something Merlin increasingly did every lunchtime. Gwen was starting to agree with him about Arthur's unpleasant nature. She had only met her former hero a couple of times, but he had given her nothing but icy looks and rude grumbling, and when she confessed herself a fan of his work, he had openly rolled his eyes.

"This."

Merlin opened the lunchbox he had brought with him, and showed her the contents. The sight was horrifying. His wonderful ham sandwich was buried in fine sand, making it completely inedible.

"I was looking forward to a sandwich, not a _sand_wich. That was the last slice of the nice ham as well. Now I'll have to _buy _lunch, which I've got neither the time nor the money for."

"Are you sure it was him?"

"Of course it was him. He's got it in for me, you know he does."

"Well, you did put custard in his shoes. That was a bizarre one." He shot her a sulky gaze for that one, causing her to shrug. "If you've not got the time, why are you sitting here?"

"Because, like I said, I don't have the money either. Can I borrow a fiver?"

Gwen smiled and reached into her pocket, fishing out a crumpled note.

"Be a dear and bring me back a coffee from the shop on the corner, would you? The dishwater we get in here is hardly going to keep me energised for hemming a hundred thousand bloody petticoats. And no, I do not want any of your _green tea_."

She cast a look of disgust over Merlin's thermos. He refrained from lecturing her on how it was her loss and not his fault that she couldn't appreciate true deliciousness. They had gone through that discussion a dozen times already, and now was not the time.

Conscious of his time restrictions, Merlin jogged to the nearest food and wine shop and bought himself a sandwich. Suspiciously cheap and by no means healthy, but adequate under the circumstances. Then he all but ran to the coffee shop, where he ordered Gwen's favourite, a double macchiato. It was all going well until he picked up the finished coffee, turned to leave and promptly tripped over his own feet. Just as he accepted the fact that disaster was imminent, strong hands grabbed his wrist, rescuing the coffee, and his waist, rescuing him.

"Oh my god," he blurted out, "You just saved my life."

"Erm, well, I - " his gallant saviour responded.

"Or, well, maybe not my life. Gwen wouldn't murder me for spilling her coffee, she's the sweetest thing, but she would have been disappointed and that would have been horrible. If I was getting coffee for the Prat, however, I'd have been skating on thin ice risking its spillage. If that had been the scenario I would simply have to marry you!"

"Uh.."

Merlin now took the time to notice that his rescuer, who really was unusually handsome, looked quite bashful, and he decided to moderate himself a bit.

"Sorry, that's a bit too much, maybe. My point is, thanks." Then he grinned and reached out a hand for shaking, "I'm Merlin."

"Lancelot," the man answered.

As it turned out, Lancelot worked in the charity shop next to the coffee shop and tended to come there on his breaks. He had started out volunteering and now earned a token amount of money, though he also had another job cleaning windows. And he owned three rescue dogs. So, hard working, selfless, caring, dog lover… He was already too good to be true. His real passion, however, was revealed when Merlin mentioned his current job. Lancelot was a great film and TV enthusiast, and would like nothing better than to act on screen.

"I was always into acting when I was a kid. I did try for a bit, but you know, it's a competitive business. I went to a shedload of auditions, but I never got any callbacks. Not even for fast food ads. Goes to show, I should have gone all in, damned the money and the risk and applied for drama school."

"No callbacks? With that face? I find it hard to believe."

Lancelot blushed a little bit, and Merlin felt pleased with himself.

"Well, it's true all the same. Anyway, shouldn't you be getting back before your friend's coffee goes cold?"

"Shit. Oh, and I was late to begin with as well. Bugger. Well, I'll… I'll see you around, then, yeah?"

"I hope so," Lancelot answered, and his little smile was enough that Merlin's mood lifted several notches.

He hurried back to the studios and entered via the costume department. He knew the location of Gwen's desk by heart, so skipping over there took no time at all. He reverently sat the cup down in front of her. She looked like she was about to comment on the fact that he had bloody well taken his time with that and wasn't he in a hurry, but upon meeting her eyes he grimaced, indicating that yes, he really didn't have time to chat right now. Seeing as they were living together at the moment - they borrowed a flat near the studios from a friend of Gwen's brother, saving the trouble of a train commute from London every morning - there would be plenty of time to catch up on each other's day. So instead of explanations, he gave her a kiss on the cheek and commented cryptically that this whole 'find a date by the time shooting is over' ordeal might not be so horrible after all. She gave him a look that implied she was less than happy with his vagueness, but he shrugged apologetically. Later, later, all would be explained later.

He sped on to the set and even though he hated being late, he was able to get away with it and kept his good mood. It was of course dampened slightly when Arthur Pendragon threw a prop gun at his head.

"Clean this," was the comment the deluded star made to accompany his act of violence. Merlin grumbled a curse in reply, but his smile was not entirely gone. His inability to vanquish Merlin's good mood didn't seem to please Arthur particularly. That suited Merlin just fine, and he set about cleaning the plastic weapon which was stained with something that seemed to be fine plaster powder. He would get Arthur back for the rudeness, of course, he already had several plans in the works. He couldn't get away with obviousness, but his adversary would know who dealt the blow. The benefit of Arthur enjoying Merlin's torment was that he at least wasn't likely to try and get him fired.


	3. Chapter 3

The film was, of course, an action film, and so there were, of course, a great deal of stunts that needed filming. And a great deal of stunts required a veritable army of stunt men, who needed accommodation, who needed coordination, who needed a frankly ridiculous amount of water bottles. Luckily, none of them were snobs about it, and all accepted the regular, non-fancy, non-Pendragon-approved water. Unluckily, the difference in water preference did not stop them from being friends with Pendragon, who did quite a lot of action films after all. And Merlin, who had a tendency to get put on water duty, therefore had to be in his presence more than he preferred.

Of course, _any_ amount of time spent in Arthur Pendragon's presence was more than he preferred, but even so. It was somehow more hazardous to be around when Arthur had friends to impress. Not that he should need to impress anyone, being annoyingly rich, annoyingly successful, and annoyingly handsome. He insisted in spite of this on proving that he was also annoyingly annoying. But though his new cronies laughed with him and pandered to his whims in embarrassingly obvious ways, torturing Merlin was not a game they participated in. They laughed when Merlin slipped on a square of floor that had been covered in some sort of soap - somehow the bastard must have known Merlin would be the first to be asked to get something from that cupboard today - but one of them actually did come over to help him up. Arthur looked smug as usual as he unscrewed the top of his special water bottle. It happened to be one that Merlin had surreptitiously spiked with salt water, so after the first hearty gulp he spat a fountain, and the stunt men laughed even more. Merlin was rather pleased with himself, and not less so when the one who had helped him up offered him a high five. He wasn't particularly ugly, either, come to think of it. Merlin set to work cleaning the slippery bit of floor to avoid other casualties. He somehow suspected that blame was more likely to fall on him than on the star of the production, no matter who amused the stunt men more.

His high-fiving friend soon became a bit of a preoccupation in himself. He would laugh the hardest at any misfortune befalling Arthur - earning a few ugly glares from the prat himself and thereby securing himself a place in Merlin's good books - and he kept shooting Merlin an alarming number of little winks and grins. During a lull in production, when Merlin was trying to untangle a mess of wires that a technician had dumped on him, he suddenly felt a heavy body plonk down beside him.

"So, where did they pick you up from?" Mr. Ruggedly-Handsome-Stunt-Man asked.

"Er, Met Film graduates' lunch?"

"Met Film? Really? So how come you're here untangling wires and waiting hand and foot on Princess Pendragon?"

Merlin snorted.

"Oh, the usual Catch 22; to get a proper job, I need some proper experience, to get experience… Et cetera. I'll just have to suffer a few divas on my way to the top, I guess. The name's Merlin, by the way," he said, offering his hand after untwisting it from the cables.

"I know," answered the man with a wink, "I'm Gwaine."

"Gwaine!" a familiar voice bellowed. The newly established owner of that name rolled his eyes.

"And now I have been summoned by his Highness. Doubtless to make sure I know how to realistically imitate his flailing. Better go. I'll see you later, Merlin!"

And so he was gone, with another bloody wink. Maybe it was flirtatious. Maybe it was a facial tic. The possibility of the latter didn't keep Merlin from blushing. What an absurd stroke of luck - within little over a week he had no less than _two_ very attractive men paying him attention. There had to be a catch to this situation somewhere. Well, come to think of it, there _was_ a rather big, famous, arrogant, prattish catch to his life. But that catch could easily be survived, especially since Merlin already had a few tricks of revenge planned.

"She's not his girlfriend, is she?"

"I do not know, Arthur. I have never met either of them. I am probably never going to. This is ridiculous."

"I mean, she is very pretty. You know, in a sugary sort of way."

"The amount of times you inform me that I kno - "

"But that's not his type. It can't be. He is way too fierce to fall for a _sweet_ girl. Unless - unless she's just sweet on the surface. Maybe she's wicked underneath. Oh, that's it, isn't it. I'm doomed."

"Ever the hyperbolist."

"She is totally his girlfriend, isn't she."

"That could very well be. I'm sure you will survive the disappointment."

"You should be a bit more supportive. My heart is breaking. The only upside if he does have a girlfriend is I'm not the only one barking up the wrong tree. Gwaine's been making eyes at him for days, the rotten bastard."

"Gwaine?"

"Yeah, he's here on a stunt mission. Doing some falling off buildings for me. As I said, it might help the situation that at least _he_ won't be getting off with Merlin. That would be awful. And besides, I saw him first. … Leon? Are you alright?"

"What? Yes. Sorry. I'm fine."

"Good. Because I need to complain to you some more."

Merlin had just decided to bring the tangle with him to lunch, hoping for some advice from Gwen, who with her crafts experience could surely provide some tips on knots, when he nearly ran straight into the back of production manager Mithian Nemo. She hardly took any notice of him, and he was glad, because she could be really bloody terrifying. In fact, she was being really bloody terrifying right now.

"Where the fuck is he?" she snarled at some girl from the casting unit. "With all these macho idiots running around the set and clogging up the payroll, you're telling me that the only one who has _any_ experience with fencing has _not bloody showed up?_"

"I'm sorry, miss Nemo, but he's not here - I took the register three times and there was no Anders Eldred present."

The agitated conversation continued as Merlin surreptitiously rounded a corner and headed for the exit rather than the break room. An idea was forming in his mind.

The charity shop was completely empty of customers as Merlin entered. The only person in there was Lance, who was playing with a pair of old toy soldiers on the counter. When the door clunked shut he looked up, and smiled when he saw Merlin. For the moment he was unaware that he now had competition, and possibly unaware that there was anything to compete for.

"Merlin! I have great news!"

"As have I, but go on!"

"Today is my lucky day!" Lance announced, waving a rectangular piece of glossy paper. "Look!"

It was one of the scratch cards that they sold at the charity counter, with pictures of puppies and advertising the grand prize of a Mediterranean cruise for two. Lance had revealed that he had always wanted to go on a cruise, and Merlin had laughed at him and claimed there was no fun to be had on a boat full of smelly old rich people. At the time, this had seemed to comfort the unattainability of Lance's dream, but now, he was handing Merlin the card which had three little boats appearing in the scratched out area.

"Wow!"

"I know!"

"Congratulations! That is amazing," Merlin gave the card back, "When is the trip?"

"I don't know, I have to deliver the card to them, and then they'll supply the details. Oh! Before I forget, what were your good news?"

"Ah," said Merlin, "Well, first, you trained a lot of stage fighting when you were trying to be an actor, right?"

"Yes."

"Any good at fencing?"

"Perfectly capable. What's this about?"

"You know how today is your lucky day? Well, it's about to get even better."


End file.
